


Keep On Surrendering

by krityan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, M/M, agegap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 13:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krityan/pseuds/krityan
Summary: Prompto Aldercapt, the thirteenth prince of Niflheim was promised to the kingdom of Lucis on the day of his birth.Now, that enemy kingdom has come to collect their prize, and he is married to their king.





	Keep On Surrendering

**Author's Note:**

> I was waffling on posting this, to be honest, but my fabulous wife and amazing friend talked me into it. Honestly where would I be without their support?

There were words being spoken around Prompto, but he honestly couldn’t hear any of them. Maybe part of the problem were the layers of heavy veils hanging over his head, he certainly could barely see through them. At least his soon-to-be  _ husband _ was in a similar situation-- as draped in thick black fabric as he was in white and gold. 

 

It was all very  _ traditional _ , everyone had explained. An old Solheim ceremony, representing the sun being overtaken by the night. The perfect wedding to solidify their truce with Lucis, show their trust. 

 

Being overtaken. 

 

Prompto squeezed his eyes shut, tried to concentrate through the deafening sound of his own breathing to hear his cue.

 

There.

 

“The thirteenth prince of Niflheim, son of his holy radiance, Emperor Aldercapt--” Prompto shuffled forward, taking 2 small steps instead of the single, confidant stride that was expected of him. He winced; he would probably be lectured for hours on the mistake. His attendant lifted away the top veils, revealing the bottom layer, a golden silk just thin enough to barely obscure his features. He did his best to look calm. Demure. He reached for happy, but that was a step too far. Hopefully, the neutral expression he settled on wouldn’t be too embarrassing for his father. 

 

The words kept blurring by. “His royal majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum, the one hundred and fourteenth king of Lucis, as ordained by the sacred crystal.” Prompto’s eyes flitted up, drawn by the motion of the other man’s veils being pulled away as well. He was  _ tall _ . He stepped forward, bringing him closer to where Prompto stood, but it was still impossible to make out his face. He went back to staring at his feet, waiting for this all to be over. His hands trembled where they hung at his sides, and he prayed no one would notice. He had an image to hold onto. He was the Empire, he represented everything, he couldn't have any weakness here--

 

The barest brush of fingertips over his hand snapped him to attention. The touch was brief, but the sensation lingered like a burn on his skin. He’d  _ touched _ him, hadn’t he? Noctis. They weren’t even really married yet and he was already  _ touching him _ and-- Prompto’s face twisted up in disgust. And this was something he’d just have to get used to. It was exactly what he’d been told to expect. 

 

“The Astrals smile on this union, between two promised souls to be bound together.” There was a long pause, expectant. Prompto’s throat was tight, suddenly dry. Finally, it was almost  _ over _ , all he had to do was say a few words. And then.

 

His voice trembled, but the words came out clearly. Almost over, almost over. Soon he’d be off this platform, without all these people watching him. “I dedicate my life to you, for eternity.” Like he’d ever had any choice in the matter. As though it was ever his life to give. 

 

“I accept.” Noctis’ voice wasn’t what Prompto had been expecting. He sounded tired.

 

There wasn’t exactly time to linger on the thought, though, as their veils were pulled away and Prompto was immediately pulled in against Noctis’ chest. He closed his eyes again through the kiss. It was quick, and chaste, but he hated it. He hated this. The scratch of a beard against his cheek. The heavy hand against the small of his back. It was a rush of sensations that barely seemed to connect to each other at all. Why were people still  _ talking _ to him, as though he had anything to say?

 

Finally, an attendant led Prompto through the crowd and cacophony out into the hallway. He followed her in a daze, trying to sort out any kind of memory of the ceremony, to make any sense of it at all. It blurred together completely. He let himself get ushered through doors and around corners, finally deposited in front of a shower. That was a welcome sight, at least.

 

“Well, at least he’s as handsome as they all say.” Oh. He recognized the voice of the woman carefully folding the red and white robes she’d helped him out of. She was brash, and a shameless gossip, but he liked her. Prompto shrugged. He’d barely been listening. “Well, better hurry and shower. You know how Lucians are. Absolute animals.”

 

Right. There were  _ other _ things expected of him. Of course.

 

\-----

 

_ Negotiations had been uneasy from the start, and even where they seemed to agree neither side wanted to concede completely. Noctis was only 14-- just old enough where he was expected to make cursory appearances at the majority of the proceedings. It all went over his head. Boring men, and boring words. He listened dutifully; he owed that much to his father. _

 

_ “So wonderful, how your son has joined us throughout these meetings.” Emperor Aldercapt made Noctis nervous, his words always sounding so carefully polished and shaped that they were hard to trust. Even when he smiled, it all seemed measured out. _

 

_ Noctis smiled back anyway. His lips pressed together, as he bit his tongue. _

 

_ “The future of Lucis is his future,” Noctis’ father had no patience for the twisting of language and law that seemed to thrill Aldercapt so much, “It is in his interest to take part in shaping that Lucis.” _

 

_ “Well said.” Aldercapt tapped his pen on the desk, making a show of considering something before gesturing vaguely into the distance. “I feel the same. My youngest son will inherit whatever wars we leave behind. So, perhaps--” He paused. Pursed his lips. Made sure the air in the room grew to an agonizing tension, “--we should consider arranging a more personal partnership between our nations.” _

 

\----

 

Prompto appreciated how hot the water ran. He was  _ sore _ after a day of perfect posture, heavy robes and uncomfortable shoes. It was a moment where things were finally slowed down around him. It was something he was used to, honestly-- sometimes he just imagined he was a doll, posed and put on display however he needed to be seen that day. That helped. He assumed he'd be doing a lot more of that now. 

 

It had been easy to fade away in the palace-- Lucis had claimed him as a prize for their prince the day he was born. There hadn't been a moment of his life where he wasn't just waiting to be handed over. 

 

An entire life of pitying looks and whispered rumors. So  _ lucky _ he’d grown into such a pretty thing. There were so many  _ rumors  _ about the Lucian prince, and he was awfully close to the princess of Tenebrae. At least he’d have experience, at least he was fond of blondes--

 

Prompto could see his attendant through the steam-clouded glass of the shower door, bustling around with towels and clothes, laying out lotions and makeup. He’d met her maybe three times in his life, but here she was. As completely invested in Prompto's  _ body _ as he was. He watched her work as the water worked away the hard ache between his shoulders. He rolled his head to the side and felt the muscles stretch. Was this just his life now? This kind of pampering and being put on display? 

 

Probably not. Prompto's entire education had been preparing him for this. Lucis was a poor country, too busy with war for any kind of culture. Completely behind Niflheim in every way. Maybe the Lucian royals didn't have servants, and that's why this woman from the palace was here. 

 

He waited until she left the room before taking his time lathering soap down his skin. She must be getting impatient with him. Maybe  _ Noctis _ was already there, already demanding him. Prompto shivered despite the heat of the water. Prompto had some idea of what was going to be  _ expected _ of him in regards to-- that. He’d been given a stunted enough education on what would be expected of his body. Had done some experimentation, touching himself in his bed at night. Pressing fingers into himself, letting that full feeling become a familiar thing. It wouldn’t be so different, right? No one else had really even  _ touched _ Prompto before; even a hand clapped over his shoulder sent uncomfortable prickles through his skin from the foreignness of it all.

 

He smoothed his hair back, rinsing it clear. He hated the feeling of water on his face, so as much as he wanted to linger in this shower forever, he’d taken all he could of it. Everything was neatly arranged across the counter-- he draped a towel over his shoulders, clung to it as goosebumps crawled across his skin in the cold air. He considered calling out to the attendant, but his voice stuck-- she must be busy. Maybe she’d left? Here he was, too helpless to  _ dress himself _ . Pushed and shoved into everything he’d ever done or been. The lump in his throat swelled, too hot to swallow. He blinked hard against the forming tears and croaked out a low sob. 

 

\----

 

_ It was an old fashioned ceremony. Some Solheim leftover the Empire trotted out, a relic of when Lucis under their rule. “A shadow,” the vows reminded, “graced by the light of our glorious empire.”  Noctis hated every second of it, and it was plainly obvious the Nif prince felt the same. He was so small, trembling underneath all the pomp and ceremony. Noctis hesitated-- this was just a kid. He’d literally been born his father pushed him across the table as a bargaining chip in a 50 year war. If this was unfair to Noctis, what was it to him? This wasn't his fault. _

 

_ Noctis let his fingertips brush over one of the prince's hands. It was the only gesture available to him, the only thing he could do to try and say, “Hey. It's okay.”  Prompto jerked away as though he’d been stung. Maybe it had been a little much to assume he’d be any kind of comfort. The ceremony moved on regardless.  _

 

\----

 

The attendant had ended up dressing him. Her impatience got the best of her, and in she’d swept before he fell apart completely. At least any signs of weakness were hidden beneath the damp and flush of his hot shower.

 

“Honestly, they never teach you how to do anything?” Prompto blushed, trying to hold still as she brushed his hair out with hard strokes. “They don't pay me enough for this. Hey--” She paused her onslaught, face softening a moment. “There's not always gonna be someone there to save you, remember that.” She clapped her hand against his cheek, a little too firmly. It stung, but there was affection there. 

 

Prompto nodded. He was never sure what to say to people. He’d seen his brothers drilled in all kinds of protocol, had watched military parades where everyone knew what to do like they were machines built for it. He never felt like anything other than awkward, or out of place. “Thanks,” he finally managed, a little forced smile accompanying the crack of his voice. 

 

“Alright, that's enough of that. Think that's as good as you're getting, kid. You ready?” She sat back, and straightened the shoulders of Prompto's robe with a laugh. “Gonna miss having you around, shortcake.”

 

That seemed like a strange sentiment. What was there to miss? Prompto had never been a solid, present thing-- he’d only ever mattered today. He choked out a semi-appreciative noise, the best he could manage without crying again. 

 

She laughed and ruffled his hair, undoing all her own work. “Come on, can't change anything now. Better just get it over with.” 

 

It was hard not to smile back. The weight crushing down in Prompto's chest settled down to a flutter, easy enough to concentrate away. She had a point. It was never his place to fight before, but he was an  _ Aldercapt _ . He was descended from the sons of Solheim. These Lucians might have claimed him as a prize, but he didn't have to be a  _ trophy.  _ “Alright. Thank you.” He took a deep breath, huffed it out again through his nose, and hurtled forward, catching the attendant in a wide hug. “For everything.” 

 

She exaggerated her annoyance at peeling herself free. “Yeah, yeah, come on. I’ll take you down to his quarters.” 

 

She tugged Prompto to his feet, tutting at the last few details. Nothing important, just enough for Prompto to compose himself and look in the mirror for a moment. He looked more  _ himself _ than he had this morning. 

 

The makeup was gone, that helped. These robes were still ridiculous, but the fabric was lighter and hung closer to his body. He’d been portly when he was young; he hadn't missed the less-than-flattering nicknames and off-hand remarks disguised as advice. So he had started running– the show of  _ discipline _ had earned him praise, and he liked the way he didn't have to think about anything beyond the burn in his lungs. Somewhere between that and puberty he’d ended up lean, with long, muscular legs. 

 

He followed behind the attendant at a loose distance. There was something he liked in the image of himself as a solitary thing. He had curated an image of himself. Someone likeable. Someone beautiful. 

 

He liked how he was now. As long as he never went back. 

 

She stopped at the other end of the hall, and rapped her knuckles sharply against the door. Three knocks, Prompto held his breath for three beats as they waited. No protest came from inside, so she opened the door for him with a grand sweep and a cheeky wink.  _ Good luck _ , she mouthed before bowing her head to let him pass. 

 

Prompto didn't know why he was holding his breath, but he kept his stomach sucked in and clenched flat as he stretched himself as tall and straight as possible. This summer palace was almost exclusively used for visiting dignitaries; the whole wing was probably made up of identical suites. There were a few signs of Noctis scattered around. An empty glass, a discarded jacket. Prompto wasn't sure where the man himself was. Maybe he wasn't here, maybe was still  _ celebrating. _

 

Prompto let his guard drop a little. Maybe Noctis would be too drunk for anything to happen tonight. That was a thing, right? He’d heard a servant complaining before. Being a drunk would fit right in with everything else he’d heard about the Lucian king. 

 

He pushed into the bedroom, scoffing to himself. He was  _ tired _ , he didn't want to wait around for a man he'd never wanted to know in the first place—let alone marry. He could just spread himself out on the bed, leave his robes in just enough disarray to look  _ appealing.  _ That would be enough to satisfy any expectations of an unhappy wedding night, right? 

 

Or Noctis would be right here. Already lying in bed.  _ Their _ bed. Prompto tensed again with the thought. He was awake, and watching Prompto like a predator.

 

Prompto felt himself crumpling a little under the gaze. His shoulders sloped down, and his fists tangled into the folds of his robes. Everything he’d been building up started to collapse in. Why? Why was this happening like this?

 

Noctis shifted. He was shirtless, sheets rumpled across his lap, eyes roaming over Prompto. “You're finally here.”


End file.
